


i'm just gonna call you mine

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, kyle "flies around the world for a 16 hr visit with willny" dubas, kyle "for as long as i'm gm he'll have a place on my team" dubas, this is all so stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 06:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16444355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Kas knows that Kyle has his back. But Kas has Willy’s back, first and always, and if Willy is stupid for Kyle, then Kas will have to get stupid for the both of them.





	i'm just gonna call you mine

Admittedly, the year is off to a fucking awesome start. Kas is on the first line, his chemistry with Matts is off the fucking charts, he and Tavares have been destroying the league, the guys – the guys are great. The team is great.

It’s almost enough to distract him from the fuzziness of the transatlantic FaceTimes, the late night-early morning negotiating, multiplayer video games over dinner, carefully skirting around the issue, trying to disguise what he really wants to ask behind things that are safer, things that will be less stressful:

“Mitch has been following JT around like a puppy – I think Auston misses him, though he’d never admit it.”

( _He misses you. We all do. I’m trying to keep your spot warm._ )

“Alex is doing well, huh?”

( _Do you watch us play?)_

“How’s your family?”

( _How am I doing? Are you proud of the team? Are you proud of me?)_

Willy doesn’t want to talk about the contract, or lack thereof. He wants to talk about Kyle even less. And Kasperi gets it, he understands. But sometimes, like pressing on a bruise, Kas just has to try:

“I was talking to Kyle -”

And Willy abruptly spins his avatar around on the screen, shoots Kas. The screen fades.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Kas asks, but he’s laughing. It’s early in Toronto, a crisp and clear morning that makes him think of his childhood and, for some reason that he doesn’t want to touch today, with his best friend so far away ----- it makes him think of Olli.

Willy is laughing, too, his fucking ridiculous laugh. Kas knows it better than his own, has been conditioned to pick it up beneath the shrill scream of the goal horn, to discern it from the screams of the hungry crowd, circled in tight around them. It’s nothing to hear it on the shitty internet connection; it makes it easier to imagine Willy close enough to touch.

“Come on, Will,” Kas says as he restarts the game. He keeps his gun leveled on Willy’s avatar. Just in case. It helps him watch Willy’s back, too, in case someone finds them here. They’d carved out their own place, just fucking around, the game more an excuse to talk than something they were actually interested in playing. “You guys still haven’t talked?”

Will grunts. Petulant.

Fortunately, Kasperi has a lot of experience dealing with a bratty Willy. “Words, babe,” he says, half-flirting because Willy is _always_ half-flirting, and won’t be able to resist it. He’s right, only has to wait a second or two for Willy to go on -

“We’ve talked,” Willy says, and Kas has to wait him out until: “Well, Lewis has talked to him. Been talking to him. Obviously. I don’t know.”

“What have they been talking about?”

Willy huffs, and he’s moving from bratty to truly annoyed. If he doesn’t want to answer, Kas won’t make him, but – it would be good for him. Well, probably.

“I don’t know, Kas,” Willy says eventually. Another pause, and then, “Lewis told me to stop calling him for updates, that he’d contact me when something happens.”

If Willy had any sense of shame, Kasperi would think he sounded sort of sheepish. But knowing Willy, it sounds more dramatic than ashamed.

“You should call him,” Kas says.

“Dude, were you even listen -”

“Not Gross,” Kas says. “Dubes.”

“That would be inappropriate, William,” Will says, in his best impression of his father.

“Oh, yeah,” Kas snorts, “ _That_ would be inappropriate.”

Willy laughs, loud and loose. He sounds good, happy, and Kas’s heart aches to hear him sound like that so far away from him, from their team.

Auston might be the savior of the team, Mitch its Toronto-born compass, but it was Willy’s team, first. Willy was the first of them, the first to really bring hope to the fans. And in a place like Toronto, that means something. All of that _want_ , all of that restless, impatient energy, flooding to the ACC – fuck, okay, Scotiabank Arena, _whatthefuckever_ – and turning Willy’s blood from red to blue. He was the first conduit of all of that attention, and it just made him work harder, made him want to earn it, to prove that he was worthy of that love and devotion.

It’s no wonder Kyle took an interest in him. The whole world – or, at least Toronto, and when it comes to hockey, that’s basically the same thing – did.

“He thought we should wait it out. That we’d ‘revisit us’ when I got back to Toronto, after everything is settled.” Will pauses. “I guess he didn’t think it would take this long. Dumbass.”

Kas ignores how fond he sounds. “That doesn’t matter, it’s bullshit,” Kas says instead. He shoots lazily at a tree on the horizon. He can’t even tell if he hits it, doesn’t care.

“This is already so fucking complicated, at this point, I don’t care. I just want to play.”

“Yeah, we all want you back,” It’s a blatant chance for Willy to say something about _him_ , about his playing. It’s fishing, sure, but after the thirst-traps that Will has been posting all summer, maybe Kas deserves a double-tap.

“Six weeks, right? Until December?”

Kas grunts noncommittally. He’s not thinking that far in advance. It’s unsettling that Willy is.  “You’ll be back before then. He won’t let it come down to that.”

It’s vague. Maybe he’s talking about Lewis Gross, maybe he’s talking about Michael. Maybe he’s talking about Kyle.

“I hope so,” Willy says, and the wistfulness is unexpectedly vulnerable. The weight of it knocks Kas off-balance.  

It sticks with him, echoes in his head as he waits outside of Kyle’s office, propped up against the opposite wall, waiting, when Kyle walks out. He barely even starts, just tilts his chin and smiles.

“Everything okay, Kas?” Kyle says as he turns to lock the door, sounding suspicious and amused and ----- yeah, okay, that’s deserved. Kas grins, despite himself, feeling dumb and clumsy, which he is certainly not. He pushes off of the wall, thinking, _fake it until you make it_ , but feeling extra confident because he’s already made it with Kyle.

They made it together. Marlies and then the Leafs, and Kas knows that Kyle has his back. But Kas has Willy’s back, first and always, and if Willy is stupid for Kyle, then Kas will have to get stupid for the both of them.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

 Kyle is casual about the whole thing, never looking over at Kas even when he’s practically got his hands down the front of Kyle’s slacks. He still pays Kas no mind when they get to his apartment, taking his time and directing Kas to his bedroom, moving through his apartment at his own leisure like he doesn’t care that Kasperi is hard and hot and in his bed.

 He probably doesn’t, the fucker.

 When Kyle does make it to his room, Kas has stripped himself of his clothes and is lazily palming himself with a few drops of lube from the bottle he found in Kyle’s bedside table. At least he’s shed his pants, Kas thinks, looking at Kyle standing there in nothing but an open collared shirt, tie undone around his neck, and a pair of boxers that do nothing to hide the strong thighs that Kas wants beneath him and the hardening cock that he wants inside him. At least Kyle’s a hot asshole.

 He stalks towards the bed, fingers plucking at his cuffs, eyebrows quirked in amusement when Kas moans at his own touch.

 “Started without me?” he asks, like he doesn’t have eyes, like he can’t see how bad Kas wants him.

 Kasperi opens his legs, lets Kyle watch him prod delicately at himself, lips caught in his mouth when he skirts around his hole. “If you weren’t--  _ah,_ ” Kas closes his eyes at the sensation, hands working in tandem to bring himself pleasure, “ _taking forever_ , then we could be doing this together.”

 Kyle stands near the head of the bed, shedding his shirt and watching Kas writhe against his covers. He opens his eyes just in time to see Kyle reach for him, skipping all the important parts and grabbing his face tilting him up for a kiss. He kisses like he fucks, powerful and in control. Kasperi moans around his tongue,  _delighted_ when Kyle’s other hand spans over his collar, touching experimentally until it’s gripped loosely around Kyle’s throat.

 “Please,” he says, excited at the reedy sound of his own voice. “Kyle, please.”

 Kyle nods, stroking a thumb over Kasperi’s cheek in a way that feels too comfortable and too loving, but he’ll fucking take it if it means Kyle never stops touching him.

He steps back, smiling when Kas whines, and pushes his underwear off his hips. Kas moves over so Kyle can make his way on the bed, belly fluttering at the bob of Kyle’s dick as he gets to his knees on the bed. “You gonna suck me off?”

 “You got someone else in mind,” Kasperi asks before he remembers himself, but once he’s there, his own arousal forgotten to feel Kyle heavy on his tongue, he thinks. Oh yeah, Kyle does have someone else in mind. He pulls back, fighting against the hand Kyle has tangled in his hair to look up apologetically. “Shit, I didn’t mean to say that.”

 “Don’t worry about it,” he says, guiding his cock back into Kas’s mouth. “We’re working on it.”

 He sounds calm as ever, but Kas can sense the desperation, and dammit Kas is not here to wax poetic about William Nylander while he has a  _dick in his mouth_ , no sir. He sucks harder, bobs until he chokes, and Kyle is into it, but he’s obviously distracted and that. That won’t do.

 Kyle is only a little bit bigger than him, and when Kas slides off him with a  _pop_ he’s distracted enough for Kas to push onto his back and straddle. He wastes no time kissing every part of Kyle his hands can’t reach. His chin and cheeks and chest, then his nipples, pink and sensitive and puffy when Kas gets done with them.

 “Bet you wish I was Willy,” Kas says, fingers loose around Kyle’s cock, jerking slow and eating up his moans when he gets to chance. He’s tender when kisses the shiver in Kyle’s bottom lip. “Hm? You want him here touching you? Did you picture him when you put your cock in my throat?”

 Kyle’s hand fits perfectly into the cut of Kas’s hips, bruising in the best way. He puts Kas on his back easily, lifting his legs into the air and wrapping them around his waist. The roll of his hips is delectable, and the grind of Kas’s cock against the soft skin of Kyle’s stomach makes him cry out.

Kyle bites at his mouth, kissing Kas until he’s squirming against Kyle’s thighs. “I bet you’ve been thinking about that, huh?” He runs a hand through Kyle’s hair, looks at his face, searches. “Flipping Will over and getting ready to fuck him?” 

Kyle has never done anything he didn’t like, and Kasperi is being borderline cruel. If Kyle asked him even once to cut it out, he would. He emphatically doesn’t.

 What he does do is push away from Kas’s hands, leaning away and coming back with the lube. Kas closes his eyes to the sound of a squirt, them opens them again when Kyle circles a finger around him. “Relax,” Kyle says softly. “Open your legs for me.”

 Kas does, and he feels Kyle drop lube onto him before he works gently inside, first finger massaging over time until Kas is a mess for two, then three. The resistance of his knuckles bends Kas’s back several times, and Kyle kisses him each time he begs for it, fingers wet and slippery on Kas’s jaw. He breathes into Kyle’s mouth, letting his moans drown as he fucks back into the glide of Kyle’s fingers.

“You’re taking care of me,” Kas points out, thighs tickled at the kisses Kyle puts there. “Like I’m him.”

Kyle hums, fanning his fingers open inside of Kasperi. “I’m always careful with you.”

Kas whines, because Kyle isn’t being  _fair_ , and he was ready for Kyle’s dick maybe five minutes ago. He squeezes himself around Kyle’s fingers, annoyed when all it produces is a low chuckle.

“Not like this,” Kasperi says, nearly drooling at this point, hands sliding down to touch himself. “Never like this. Go ahead and fuck me, Kyle. I’m not him. I can take it.”

“Chatty, huh?”

Kas twitches around his fingers. “Probably couldn't talk so much if you were fucking me.”

“So fucking needy,” Kyle bitches, getting up in search of a condom, Kas hopes, unhappy with how hollow he feels without Kyle’s fingers scissoring inside him. He’s back, and he’s pressing against Kas. “This better?”

It’s a struggle to look down, but he does, and he sees Kyle slick up his fat cock a few more times, teasing over Kasperi’s twitching hole. “Turn over,” Kyle says, shifting back to give him more room and giving Kas a kiss on the shoulder when he obliges. “Good boy.”

“‘M not a fucking dog,” he complains over his shoulder, words dying in his throat as Kyle thumbs open his rim again. “Fuck!  _Fuck,_ fuck.”

Kyle shushes him, pressing open kisses to the knobs of his spine. “It’s okay, I’m gonna fuck you.”

“You better.”

Kyle handles him a little harsher this time, fingers sturdy on his thighs when he positions Kas how he wants him, thighs pushing his legs apart until his face crashes into the mattress. The head of his dick is hot, insistent and delicious and enough to have Kas canting his hips back against it.

“You can pretend I’m him,” his voice translates into this breathy invitation. Kasperi means it, though, he’s a damn good friend. Kyle’s controlling grip stops Kasperi from shoving back onto him, so he works himself on the thick tip. “Go ahead, Kyle. Close your eyes and think of him.”

“I hate you,” Kyle says as he enters Kasperi in a smooth and breathtaking thrust. He’s relentless once he starts, trying to fuck the words out of Kas’s mouth. “I hate you so fucking much.”

Kyle fucks his hole, stretching Kas open and giving him what he needs. “I bet you could make him beg, too. He looks, fuck  _oh, fuck –_ he looks like he’d cry for you. You wanna make him cry, Dubas?”

The bones of his hands hold Kas steady, sinking into the muscle surrounding his hips to keep Kas bouncing in the perfect rhythm. He drops his head, barely able to catch his breath as Kyle drapes himself over Kyle’s back. The weight of him, safe and surrounding, makes Kas cry out against the sheets he’s fisted near his head.

“You’re so good,” slips Kyle, his silent facade discarded to bite painfully at Kas’s shoulders. “Can’t believe you still feel this good.”

He tries to keep his legs open as Kyle fucks forward, tries to be good for Kyle like he promised. Like this, Kyle has reduced Kas to a shaky mess, whines hiccupping out of him as Kyle thrusts inside him unerringly.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, when Kyle shifts back again, rolling his hips to tilt his cock inside Kasperi. “Come on, Kyle.  _Fuck me._ ”

He’s dangerously close to coming without being touched again, and he knows Kyle can tell. This isn’t the first or third of fifth time they’ve done this – it’s been a while, though, less frequent since Kyle started spending more time at the big show, started spending more time with Willy. He’s not mistaken when he says this time is different, though, softer. Kinder, even as Kyle’s balls staccato against his thighs. It’s the way his fingers linger. The way his eyes shut each time Kas gets a chance to look at him. The way his lips press into Kas’s skin, whisper soft, heartbreakingly intimate.

As he’s thinking that, trying to stave the tightness in his gut until he knows that Kyle’s close too, it happens. One moment, Kyle’s slamming into him, fucking him open and deep and _so damn good,_ and the next he’s pulling out.

“I’m gonna come, Will,” he chokes, and Kasperi  _is_ coming onto the sheets because that’s maybe the hottest thing he’s ever heard. He feels sore and exposed, but Kyle gets a hand around him, coaxing him through it as his thighs shake. “Come for me, Will. It’s okay. So fucking pretty, baby.”

Offended is what Kas should feel, instead he relishes it, tries to remember anything he can to make this better for Kyle. Less painful. “Yeah, Kyle, fuck. _Fuck_. I love you.”

He certainly does not love Kyle, but he’s come dumb and he figures if he’s pretending to be Willy, it should do the trick. It does, apparently, because Kyle is striping his back with come seconds later, grunting before he collapses beside Kas.

There are kisses everywhere, lazy and sloppy all over Kas’s neck and arms and the visible side of his face. “I love you, too,” he says, peppering Kasperi with affection that he knows is not really his. “Love you, Will.”

It’s so fucking  _sad._

They’re in a wet spot of Kasperi’s come, and probably a bit of Kyle’s, but they don’t move. He sits up after a few seconds, ready to tease Kyle for not offering to clean him up. Kyle’s asleep before Kas can tell him how especially fucked up all of that was.

Kas is fast enough to gather his clothes and arrange for a car, that Kyle doesn’t stir even once as he makes his way out of the apartment.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

He makes it to his condo in time to catch a few hours of rest before morning skate. There are a few texts from Kyle on his phone, but Kas gets satisfaction from leaving them unopened as he skates with his team. He’s laying down for a nap when he opens them.

_you didnt say bye_

_sorry i passed out_

It’s sweet, he thinks, but totally unnecessary. Kas is a big boy who knows what he’s doing. If the situation contained anything less strange than Kyle fucking him while he was pretending to be his best friend, then he probably wouldn’t have even gotten a text in the first place.

Kasperi’s reply is simple.

_call willy_

He goes to sleep after that, and of course, Kyle never texts back.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

As usual, Kasperi is minding his own business, being brilliant at hockey and enjoying post-practice lunch with his team when he gets a message from Willy. They’ve talked a little, played some video games together, took snipes at each other in the groupchat. But this is just to him, no other recipients, and there’s an image attached that he has to download. He prays that he’s not about to open a dick pic in front of Patrick Marleau.

The text reads:  _thnx for getting him to me._

The picture is of a pair of glasses and a watch on a bedside table, and he suddenly hates both of those fucking dorks. That being said, Kas spends the rest of the day – even his mid-afternoon conditioning stint – with a smile on his face.

 


End file.
